My small moment of serenity shattered as soon as Umrea shoved the towering, wooden double doors open for me. The other twenty-five members of the Council had already taken their seats atop a raised dais, each of their eyes locked on the three individuals standing around a small table in front of them: Heath, a wispy, unwell looking warlock that must’ve been Adam, and an otherworldly tall, fancily dressed individual with horns and a long, spindly tail.
“Heath? What’s going on?”
“Ah, Zoe. Good, I’m glad you’re here,” he said as he beckoned me toward his guests. He placed a hand on the other warlock’s shoulder, who flinched at the touch. “This is my son, Adam. And this is his lawyer, Virgil.”
“Pleased to meet you, Councilwoman,” the lawyer said and extended a pale blue, clawed hand for me to shake.
A bright yellow dandelion popped from his pinstriped suit pocket where he’d pinned it, and his jovial smile and crow’s feet in the corners of his feline yellow eyes distracted from the unsettling, sawed-off horns sprouting from his forehead. The leathery, spade-capped tail that protruded from his slacks swished behind him and cracked like a whip as he waited for me to say or do something.
When I didn’t, Virgil chuckled and tucked his hand in his pocket. “Ah, I know that look too well. This must be your first time meeting a demon. My kind aren’t exactly common in your neck of the magical woods.”
Nearly a year into my new life in Moon Grove, and I was still meeting new paranormal species. “Er, sorry, I was just confused.”
Virgil smiled, revealing dozens of sharp, pointed teeth, and tapped one of his stunted horns. “Not to worry, we neither bite nor maul unless provoked, which is why we make perfect lawyers.”
“Virgil, Adam, and I have spoken at length over the weekend and we’ve agreed on something that the Council has already voted to approve. Well, most of them anyway,” Heath said and shot a glance over his shoulder at the other members. I didn’t know who he meant, but I could venture a few guesses. “I’m sorry for voting without you, but you’d already pledged your support, so I thought it would be okay.”
“Yeah, I don’t mind. So, what’s the deal?”
“As we discussed, the Council has agreed to provide Adam immunity from prosecution if he’ll cooperate with our investigation into the Black Brotherhood and make a public statement denouncing the group and his involvement with it,” Heath said. “I’ve already scheduled a press conference for that reason for later this morning and sent announcements to the press.”
“Oh, uh, wow. That moved quickly.”
“The quicker, the better. Neither the Council nor I need this hanging over Moon Grove.”
“Okay. So, when’s the conference?”
“Ten A.M.”
My heart skipped a beat. “That’s in less than an hour.”
Heath smiled. “Yes, so time is of the essence. After Adam finishes making his statement, the gargoyles will take him to a secure area for detainment and questioning. You’re welcome to visit and ask him anything you might like. Given your recent skirmish with him and his associates, I’m sure you have questions.”
I stole another glance at Adam and realized he looked nothing like his father. Where Heath radiated life and joy, Adam seemed like he had none of either quality left. His greasy brown hair dangled in a curtain down the left side of his face, concealing one of his beady, murky blue eyes. The other flitted anxiously in its socket, unable to focus on anything. It was hard to tell given his physical condition, but he looked almost as old as Heath, which I knew wasn’t possible. Life hadn’t been kind to Adam.
So yes, I had several questions for him — namely, how on Earth had he survived our encounter? I’d pushed a massive stone column over onto him that had to have crushed his vital organs. Also, how had he gotten involved with the Brotherhood, and how did he end up a henchman for Derwin Moriarty, a lying Seer turned criminal?
“For now, I think you’d better take your seat. I expect the press to arrive any moment now, and you know better than anyone else how much of a mess their camera setup can be,” Heath said.
“Right, sure,” I said and headed for the stairs leading up the side of the dais in a daze. As I waddled my way up them, my energy depleted quickly, so I had to stop at the top to catch my breath.
I hadn’t expected things with Adam to move so quickly, but Heath obviously had other plans, which begged the question: Why was he rushing? It couldn’t be good for Heath’s legacy to have his son gallivanting around as a member of the Black Brotherhood, but it wouldn’t have been the first time a family member of his had had their connections to dark magic exposed.
I headed for my chair at the center of the dais next to Heath’s, careful not to knock anyone out with my ginormous stomach. Thankfully, my chair was large and sturdy enough that I could collapse into it without fear of it breaking.
Wesley Damon, an older warlock council member to my left, leaned over to whisper in my ear. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had an eventful morning like this, wouldn’t you say?”
“That’s putting it lightly.”
“I can’t speak for you, but this seems awfully rushed to me.”
I bit my lip to keep from agreeing. Even though I disliked Heath’s approach, I had to resist Wesley’s gossip bait for the sake of unity. The last thing we needed in a time like this was for the Council to splinter. I cleared my throat and composed myself. “If the Head Warlock thinks this is the best decision, then I support him.”
Wesley scoffed, and I caught a whiff of his morning coffee on his breath. “How diplomatic of you.”
I turned to look him in his steely grey eyes and fixed him with my strongest look. “Diplomacy is what the people of Moon Grove voted us here to do, Wesley. Don’t forget that.”
“I fail to see how making a warlock confess his sins to the entire magical world is diplomatic, but I suppose you and I will have to agree to disagree.”
I mustered my most patronizing smile. “See? It’s not so hard. You’re already starting to get the hang of this diplomacy thing. I’m proud of you,” I said and faced forward to avoid looking at Wesley’s grizzled face any longer.
True to Heath’s prediction, reporters had already started pouring into the chamber while Wesley and I sparred. The gargoyles guarding the door confiscated their wands and searched their bags before letting them inside — we couldn’t be too cautious anymore.
Unsurprisingly, Marcel Desfleurs, an old friend and vampire photographer for the undead-owned Grave Times, was one of the first to arrive. He flashed me a pointy-toothed smile and waved while he got his camera mounted on a tripod.
What surprised me, however, was seeing Flora enter with a young witch reporter I didn’t recognize. If I had to guess, she was probably a new hire at the Messenger and the higher ups had assigned Flora to accompany her to the event — just like Mitch had come with me to my first assignment in this very room when I worked for the Messenger.
A smarmy looking middle-aged warlock in an expensive suit followed them inside, his hair all shining, gelled waves in the light from the candlesticks magically suspended overhead. I’d never seen him before.